Saturday, 9 August 2014

You know, as a child, I was always wondering where the skies ended. Could I touch the walls. As I burst through the clouds in my first airplane ride way back in school, the child in me almost gasped that I have shot in to the other side. I peered through the windows, saw the Himalayas as minions made of Plasticine by some unimaginative child, and I looked awed that I could see famous peaks within the line of a single vision. It was breathtaking in it's magnum opus scale. But seen from afar, tiny chain of whiteness really, the uninitiated would just ignore it as a rather well defined chain of clouds. Just another temporary strand of the universe.

The power of the Giants, the force of the strong is overwhelming. And looking back, the Giants bursting into the teenager's vision as distant minions, capable of being grasped within a single line of perception, redefined the notion of overwhelming awe. The awe shifted: to being able to see the giants small from a distance.

You know, I sometimes wonder where the mind ends. Where my boundaries lie, and why the boundaries seem to navigate in the spaces of my heart to set up whimsical temporary values that whither as soon as they crop, only to be replaced by new. I refuse to write about literature, the more real-world, and things that matter for the pretense of worldly-wise-wisdom. The real real is somewhere floating out there. Giant, gigantic, overwhelming. But sometimes to the mind, they are like the big mountains suddenly compressed, distanced, within a single line of vision. And there's something exhilarating about this discovery. Life is neither more nor less. It just needn't be measured.